User blog:Squibstress/A Slant-Told Tale - Chapter 43
Title: A Slant-Told Tale Author: Squibstress Rating: MA Genre: Drama, romance Warning/s: Explicit sexual content; violence; abuse; alcoholism Published: 23/05/2017 Disclaimer: All characters, settings and other elements from the Harry Potter franchise belong to J. K. Rowling. Chapter Forty-Three 18 June 1996 Alastor’s belly gave a protesting rumble. He took the second half of the sausage sammie Molly had insisted on making for him that afternoon from his cloak pocket and carefully unwrapped it. He should have had dinner before coming on watch, but his clandestine meeting with Dumbledore had taken longer than he’d expected, and if Alastor Moody had never once been late for a watch during his Auror years, he certainly wasn’t going to start now. A swig of tepid tea from his flask chased down the last bite of sandwich. He shifted his weight from one leg to the other and rubbed his bad thigh. What time was it? He couldn’t cast a Tempus, not with all the detection charms that were likely about, but he estimated he’d been here for more than two hours, which would make it after one in the morning. Two hours before he was relieved, unless something happened before then. His stump sang choruses of pain up his leg. Dumbledore had suggested he find someone else to take the watches that called for long periods on his feet, but Alastor wouldn’t hear of it. He might be minus one leg, but he was still better at stealth and concealment than anyone else in the Order, including Kingsley. And if this watch required anything, it was stealth and concealment. Alastor had no doubt that the house had sophisticated protective charms around it. Alastor’s best Invisibility Cloak would only help him so much; the charms he’d perfected over the years to counter revealing and discovery spells were what really mattered on missions like this. Some of the Order had balked at spending resources on round-the-clock surveillance of Quentin Yaxley, but Alastor thought he was a likely candidate to attempt to steal the prophecy, given his position as director of the International Magical Office of Law. Dumbledore agreed, although Alastor knew he was afraid there was also a spy directly in the Department of Mysteries. A light flickered in an upstairs window. So someone was there and awake. Padmore had reported seeing Yaxley go in around 7:30, but he could have Flooed out again; he had a direct connection to the Ministry. No worries on that score, though. The Order had someone there all night on watch, so if Yaxley showed up, they’d know about it. And Alastor doubted he allowed Apparition directly in or out of his house. “Moody.” Alastor whipped around, wand ready and a hex on his lips. “Jaysus, Snape. You almost got a faceful of Stupefy.” His heart pounded out a tattoo. Snape stood less than a yard in front of him, face betraying nothing, despite the wand pointed directly at his nose. How the hell did he sneak up on me like that? Do all Death Eaters learn to see through Invisibility Cloaks? “I’m here to relieve you,” Snape said. “Nice try. D’ye think I’m daft? Yer—” “It’s Minerva.” Alastor’s gorge rose, and the idea that Snape was trying to trick him into giving up his watch vanished in a shock of panic. He threw off his Invisibility Cloak. “Is she alive?” “She was badly stunned. She’s—” Alastor grabbed the front of Snape’s frock coat and shook him. “Is she alive?!” Snape looked down at Alastor’s hand on him, then back up to his face. “Yes. But she is unconscious. Madam Pomfrey couldn’t Renervate her, so she’s been transferred to St Mungo’s.” Alastor released him. “Take my watch. If anyone goes in to see Yaxley, make note of it and remember who it was. Follow ‘im if you have to. Make sure yer not seen.” He snatched up his Invisibility Cloak and threw it at Snape, then turned and Apparated on the spot. Later it would occur to him that he’d not only abandoned his post, he’d given one of his best tools to a Death Eater without a second thought. The abrupt trip from Aberdeenshire to London was enough to make Alastor vomit up his ersatz dinner. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and sped around the corner to the entrance to St Mungo’s. At that time of night, there were no Muggles about, so he didn’t bother lowering his voice. “Here to see a patient, Minerva McGonagall.” The mannequin guarding the entrance beckoned him forward, and he stepped through the glass’s protective charm into the reception area. The Welcome Wizard looked up from his desk. His smile faltered at the expression on Alastor’s face. “What can I—” “Minerva McGonagall. Where is she?” The wizard consulted his log. “Fourth floor, Spell Damage Ward, number 41. It doesn’t say she’s allowed vistors yet, though.” “She’s allowed me.” He moved as fast as he could throught the corridor and up the staircase, barely registering the pain in his bad leg as he climbed the four flights. He was panting when he burst through the doors to Ward 41. His magical eye scanned the room. Only two of the ward’s six beds were occupied, both by women who weren’t Minerva. Another bed was surrounded by a privacy curtain. Alastor stumped over and pulled it back to reveal a familiar-looking and very startled Healer. “Auror Moody? What—” “How is she?” The Healer looked back to his patient, who lay still, eyes closed, skin almost as white as the sheet upon which she lay. A blanket covered the lower half of her body, and her chest was wrapped in cotton gauze bandages. “I’m sorry, but you aren’t family, are you?” Alastor almost couldn’t find words. “I’m her … she’s me …” “I see,” said the Healer, clearly taking pity on the terrified man staring, wide-eyed, at his unconscious patient. “She’s stable. You know what happened?” “Heard she was Stunned.” “Yes. Four times. Unfortunately, she took them all right to the chest. Aurors, I’m told, so the spells were strong.” Alastor looked up sharply. Aurors. What in the name of bleedin’ Christ…? “And will she—” He cleared his throat. “Will she be all right?” The Healer nodded slowly. “I think she will, in a while.” “Why hasn’t she woken?” “We won’t try to Renervate her until her heart is more stable. She’s holding her own now, but I won’t lie to you, it was a little scary there for a few minutes. Even a single Auror-strength stunning directly to the chest would have done for many women Professor McGonagall’s age. Fortunately, she’s a strong, healthy witch, and Madam Pomfrey had the good sense to send her here rather than try to treat this herself. “What about her heart?” “It just needs a bit of time and care to recover from the shock and get back to a normal, consistent rhythm. We’ll monitor her closely in the meantime. I can’t promise, but I don’t think there’ll be any permanent damage.” He looked back down at his patient. “She’ll have some scars to tell the tale, though. Strong spells like that leave marks that we can’t fully heal. She also broke a hip when she fell. That was an easy fix, but it will be a few weeks before she can put full weight on it comfortably. Alastor rubbed the back of a hand over his mouth, and the Healer said, “Try not to worry too much. We’re giving her the best care possible. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to tend to her for a moment.” “Do what you need to.” “You’ll have to step out. I need to check the wounds and run some tests, and I’m sure Professor McGonagall would prefer some privacy.” Alastor was about about to balk, but the Healer added, “You remember what it’s like, Auror Moody. You don’t want anyone else around when they’re doing things to you.” Alastor recalled his intense desire to keep anyone from seeing his stump while it was still healing. “Yeah, okay. Thanks Healer … Gudgeon, if me memory is working right?” The young man smiled, pleased. “Right. Davey Gudgeon.” Alastor moved away from the bed, and Gudgeon pulled the privacy curtain around it. There were rustling movements, and Alastor heard a murmured spell. He had to stop himself from using his magical eye to look through the curtain. Gudgeon stepped out. “She’s stable, and her rhythm is better. The burns are healing well.” Alastor gave a terse nod. “I can send a message when she wakes up, if you like,” Gudgeon said. “I’m stayin’.” The Healer put a kind hand on Alastor’s arm. “There’s nothing you can do. Really. Better you should go and get some rest and let her rest and recover.” Alastor considered, then nodded. “Can I just …” He gestured toward the bed. “Of course.” Alastor passed through the curtain. He took one of Minerva’s hands in his. “Never thought I’d be the one at your bedside, prayin’ for you to wake up,” he said quietly. “Can’t say as I like it much.” He released her hand and stared at her face for another moment. Its stillness made his chest ache. He kissed her cool forehead. I can’t lose her now. Not after everything. ~oOo` 21 June 1996 Alastor gave the password to Minerva’s quarters. Two faces looked over at him when the door opened, and a wave of anger replaced the fear that had gnawed at his belly for the past half hour. “What in Merlin’s name were you thinking?” “Hello to you, too, Alastor,” Minerva said. Ignoring the surprising presense of Severus Snape in her private rooms, he went over to her, leant down, and kissed her quickly on the mouth. The McGonagall glare broke into a smile, and Alastor made the effort to tamp down his anger. She’s all right. “Snape.” Alastor acknowledged the other wizard without looking at him, and took a seat on the settee next to Minerva. “Moody. If you’re in no more need of assistance, Minerva, I’ll take my leave.” “Thank you for the potions, Severus,” Minerva said. “I’ll brew more of the Heart-Slowing Solution next week. Make sure you take the anti-nausea potion a few minutes before taking it, then have something light to eat directly afterwards.” “I will, thank you.” As Snape moved toward the door, Alastor called out to him. “Oi, Snape.” Snape turned. “Thanks for lettin’ me know,” said Alastor. “When herself was first taken sick.” Snape gave a short nod and left, closing the door behind him. Alastor turned back to Minerva. “You never answered my question.” “Which was?” “What the hell you were doing, leaving St Mungo’s early.” He was peering at her, he knew, and she didn’t meet his eyes. “They were going to release me tomorrow anyway, and I thought, why wait? You know what it’s like in there.” “Sure, but you should’ve waited for me to come get you, not Flooed by yerself.” “It was perfectly safe, and anyway, you couldn’t have Apparated me yet.” “Maybe, but how did you get here from the Hog’s Head?” Minerva fiddled with the selvedge of her robe. “I walked.” “All the way from the village? Are you daft?” “I took it slowly. I was fine.” “Damn it, Minerva, yer supposed to be resting.” She grabbed the stick that was leaning against the settee and stood. It hurt to see how heavily she leant on it. “I needed to move, to do something. I’ve been in that blasted bed for four days. They wouldn’t even let me up to go to the loo for two of them.” “You gave me a hell of a fright when I went to Mungo’s and you were gone.” Her face flushed, and her brow wrinkled. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think. I should have sent a Patronus.” Alastor’s anger dissolved with her distress. His fright was no longer important. She was here, they were together, and that’s all that mattered. “All right, all right, easy there, old girl,” he said, getting up and going to her. He grasped the hand that was now wringing her robe and squeezed it. “I understand.” She looked him in the eye for the first time since he’d arrived. “I suppose I still have to get used to having someone care where I am.” He led her back to the settee, saying, “I do care. It isn’t that I expect you to tell me where you’re going every time, but—” “You expected to see me, and I wasn’t there. I would have been frightened and angry too.” “It’s all right. I should have told you I was planning to come this afternoon instead of this evening.” She smiled wanly. “I suppose we both have a little adjusting to do.” Adjusting is one way of putting it, Alastor thought. The days after she’d been Stunned, Alastor had had an almighty struggle with himself. All the old fears for her safety had come flooding back, along with the voices—the ones that told him that if he were any sort of a man at all, he’d protect his beloved, keep her out of the Order’s risky business, away from Dumbledore’s scheming, and far, far away from the Dark Lord’s most desired target. He’d let the voices go on and on, but he promised himself that this time, he wouldn’t let his desire to protect her become more important to him than her needs. Even if the voices finally drove him entirely ‘round the twist, he wouldn’t force her to choose between himself and her freedom. He could live with a little fear, a little uncertainty. He wouldn’t live without Minerva. Not anymore. When he’d shown up at Mungo’s and the Welcome Wizard had told him that Professor McGongall had gone, he’d almost lost it. He’d managed to calm himself some on the walk from Hogwarts’ gates to the castle, but he’d still been afraid that something had happened to her on the way home, that he’d find her rooms empty. But here she was, looking tired, but otherwise unharmed. And happy to see him, which went a long way toward restoring his equilibrium. Time to start takin’ care of her properly. He said, “We should owl Malcolm. Let him know you’re home.” “Yes.” She yawned. “You go have a lie down, I’ll take care of it.” It was an indication of her weakness that she didn’t argue. Alastor watched her move slowly and carefully to the bedroom. He went to her desk and wrote a brief note to Malcolm. “Elgar,” he called, wondering if the elf would come to him. A mild pop a moment later answered his question. He asked Elgar to take the note to the owlery and reassured him that Mistress Minerva was well. Elgar just stood there. “Er… that’s all, then,” Alastor said. “And when will Master Alastor and Mistress Minerva be wanting dinner?” “Oh. Early, I guess. Around 6:30?” “Of course, sir. Steak and kidney pie. It’s good for Mistress Minerva’s strength. And some strong ale,” Elgar said firmly. “Just tea for me,” Alastor said. “Of course, sir.” Elgar popped away, and Alastor wondered if Minerva had specifically instructed him to follow Alastor’s commands or if he did so on his own counsel. Alastor pushed open the bedroom door a crack and peeked in. Minerva was lying on top of the counterpane, eyes closed. He started to close the door, but her voice called to him, “Come and join me.” He only hesitated a moment, then went in, sat on the bed and removed his shoes. When he lay down, she grabbed his hand and pulled his arm around her waist. She sighed contentedly. “This is nice. I barely slept a wink in hospital after they woke me. I’ve got used to having you here.” “And when the kids come back for the fall term?” he asked. “You can visit on weekends,” she said. Then, quietly: “If you want to.” Alastor smiled into her hair and kissed the back of her head. “An army of Dark Lords couldn’t stop me.” They both slept soundly until Elgar woke them gently several hours later for dinner. ← Back to Chapter 42 On to Chapter 44→ Chapters of Slant-Told Tale, A